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Anna Goodwin wasn’t supposed to be spending her first vacation in three years alone in a rented house in Michigan’s snowy Upper Peninsula, but thanks to a series of events outside of her control, that’s what’s happening. Or it was, until her solitude is invaded by the one man she never expected to see again—Grant Snow, the Dom who made plans to play with her eighteen months ago, then ghosted her.

Grant is just looking for some rest and home cooking—he didn’t know his mom had rented out her house and fled to sunnier shores. Layering shock on top of surprise,  the woman renting it is Anna, the submissive who vanished from the Chicago BDSM club he belongs to last summer before he could make good on the scene they’d planned.

She’s mad because she thinks he ghosted her. He’s mad because she won’t let him explain. What else are they going to do but hate-bang it out on top of the kitchen island?

Sex with Grant was everything Anna had known it would be: exciting, more than a little wild, and wholly satisfying. But it wasn’t a scene, and it’s a scene she craves. After a year and a half, she doesn’t want to wait any longer—and neither does he.

But one scene isn’t nearly enough—for either of them. So they decide that for the next two weeks, while they’re cut off from the rest of the world, they’ll live as Dom and sub. She’ll be under his control, at his beck and call. His.

They can do this without catching feelings. Right?

COPYRIGHT © 2025 solitary vice publications

This book was actually the first thing I wrote back in 2017, when I picked up my pen again (so to speak). It started out as a romantic suspense, but it didn't really work. The heroine, Anna, was pretty annoying back then - passive, not very interesting, and everything happened to her while she just sat around, waiting to be saved. So I put it aside, pulling it out to work on between other projects, and earlier this year I slashed 18,000 words out of it and finally found the Anna I always wanted. Sassy, unapologetically sexual, and more than a match for Grant. I hope you like how they turned out as much as I do. 

Outside on the wide front porch, Grant Snow dragged the knit cap off his head and carefully toed off his boots. After a full day of travel, all he wanted was a shower and the king-sized bed waiting for him inside.

But he knew if he left puddles on his mother’s precious wood floor, she’d shove a mop in his hands and blister his ears. 

He was a grown man, but to Grace Snow, he was never too old to take to the woodshed—figuratively speaking.

He didn’t want the mop or the lecture, so he shifted his boots to the left of the door and with the cold seeping through his stocking feet, glanced at his companion. “You know the rules, pal. Shake it off.”

He got a silly grin in response, then had to turn his face away as his friend gave a mighty shake, sending snow flying. He waited until he could no longer hear the rattle of metal, then risked opening one eye. “Hey, you look like a dog again. Good job, buddy.”

Henry, the mostly mastiff mix Grant had adopted from the Cook County Humane Society three years before, responded by lifting one massive paw to scratch at the front door.

“Yeah, let’s go to bed.” Grant hefted his duffle bag in one hand and with his keys in the other, let himself into the house. 

He stepped inside, waited for Henry to follow him in, then closed and secured the door.. Moving quietly out of habit, he started to head upstairs, then changed his mind.

He looked down at the patiently waiting dog. “You hungry, buddy?” he murmured and Henry’s ears perked in interest. “Yeah, let’s get a snack before bed.”

He set the duffle down and strode down the hall, silent in his stocking feet. Henry trailed along behind, pausing to sniff at the legs of the dining room chairs as they passed while Grant continued to the kitchen. Moonlight from the big window over the sink filled the room, bouncing off the white tiles and gleaming appliances, so he didn’t bother to turn on the light.

He crossed the threshold, his focus on the large refrigerator and the sandwich he was already building in his mind. Then he saw the woman standing at the sink.

His tired brain kicked in half a heartbeat after his feet stuttered to a stop, trying to absorb the details. Taller than average, five foot eight or nine, she wore an oversized white t-shirt and not much else. Hair hung halfway down her back, a dark, thick curtain against that background of white. It was hard to tell color in the moonlight, but he thought she might be a redhead.

He had a weakness for redheads.

The t-shirt was long enough to cover her butt, but it was thin and clingy, molding to the generous hips and lush ass underneath, and her long legs were bare.

He had a weakness for those, too.

Welcome home to me, he thought somewhat giddily, then shook his head.

Nobody knew he was coming, so it was a sure bet she wasn’t here for him. Maybe she was a friend of Corrie’s? He tried to remember his sister’s school schedule. She had a break coming up at Thanksgiving, but as it was only the first week of November, she should be in her apartment in East Lansing.

His eyes narrowed when Red leaned over the sink to peer out the window. The shirt rode up just enough to give him a hint of—yes, that was indeed a world-class ass. Bare, no less, and despite his fatigue, interest stirred.

He ignored it. If she wasn’t a friend of Corrie’s, then she was his mother’s guest. Mom hadn’t mentioned anyone coming to stay with her the last time they’d talked, but that had been six weeks ago. He’d been out of the country on a job, only getting back into Chicago early that morning. He’d picked up Henry from the kennel, and with the okay from his boss to take a much-needed break, had decided to head north for a visit. He hadn’t bothered to call ahead. His mother wasn’t expecting him until Thanksgiving, and he’d wanted to surprise her.

It looked like his appearance was going to be a surprise to more than one person tonight.

He hated to ruin the view, but he knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to announce himself. And even if his gut hadn’t been nagging him to do so, he knew his mother didn’t consider him too old to have his ears boxed if she thought he’d behaved poorly towards a guest.

He took one last look at long legs and barely covered bottom, then fixed his gaze firmly on the back of her head. “Hello.”

 

Anna spun around, momentarily blinded when her hair flew in her eyes. Almost before her vision cleared, she was moving. The plastic water bottle winged out of her hand, instinct and her self-defense training kicking in. It hit the man standing in the kitchen doorway square in the forehead and exploded on contact.

“Shit!”

He staggered back but didn’t go down, flinging out his arms to catch himself on the doorway as water rained down from the broken bottle. She didn’t bother screaming, just grabbed apples out of the bowl on the counter and sent them flying. The first hit the doorway, spraying chunks into the air and wrenching a curse from the intruder. He ducked to avoid fruit shrapnel, and the second apple sailed through the doorway over his head. But she took a second to aim with the third, and it hit him exactly where she intended.

Dead in the crotch.

His eyes went wide, all the color drained out of his face, and he folded like a cheap suit.

“Yes!” She thrust her arms into the air in victory as he curled into a fetal ball in the kitchen doorway, his hair dripping water into a puddle on the floor. Then she remembered all she wore was a t-shirt and hastily lowered them again.

The intruder let out a low groan and propped himself up against the door jam. A string of impressive curses spilled out and he pinned her with a vicious glare, one hand cradling his crotch. 

“What the fuck, lady?” His voice was a ragged growl, full of pain and insult that absurdly, had an apology leaping to her lips. Swallowing it down, she fixed her most ferocious scowl on her face and snatched up another apple.

“Don’t move,” she warned.

“I can’t move,” he retorted. He lifted one shaking hand to shove at the hair dripping in his face, his eyes narrowing when he saw the apple in her hand. “Don’t you throw that at me, dammit. I’m already on the damn floor.”

“You make one move and I’ll put you in the ground,” she countered, a little unnerved by outrage blazing from his pale blue eyes. They shone nearly silver in the dim light, and something niggled at her memory.

She narrowed her gaze, searching his face as the niggle got stronger, then every single thought flew out of her head.

She scrambled back, unable to hold back the shriek as the biggest dog she’d ever seen lumbered into the room. His feet looked to be the size of dinner plates, and she was sure her entire head would fit in his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?”

The man rolled his eyes, exasperation replacing wounded outrage, and lifted the hand that had been cradling his crotch to scratch the beast behind the ears. “Now you come in,” he griped at the dog. “Where were you when she was pelting me with apples?”

The dog snuffled at the man’s face, and he let out a huffing laugh. “Idiot,” he said with amused affection and gave the dog a last scrubbing pat before turning that blazing gaze on her again. “If I get up to get a towel, are you going to throw something at me again?”

She cocked her arm back, apple at the ready. “Yes.”

“Jesus Christ.” He dragged a hand through his hair, scattering water that the dog tried to lap up out of mid-air. “Get one for me, then. They’re in the drawer next to the stove.”

Anna automatically took a step toward the drawer, the command in that whiskey voice impossible to ignore even with the exasperated disgust coloring it. Then she froze. How did he know where the towels are?

“How do you know where the towels are?” she demanded.

He lifted a hand to shove at the dog, who was trying to chew on his hair. “Because that’s where they go.”

“How do you know where they go?” she asked, more bewildered now than suspicious.

“Because I live here,” he retorted. “Dammit, Henry, get out of my hair.”

The dog—Henry—gave an offended woof and slapped a giant paw on the man’s lap. He lurched forward, frantically shoving it away. “Fuck! Do I have a target painted on my balls or something?”

“You do not live here.” She lifted the apple again. “I will throw this at your head this time.”

“Jesus Christ. I’m Grant Snow, and if anybody should be throwing apples, it’s me,” he snapped, voice rising in irritation. “I come home in the middle of the night, find a half-naked woman in my mother’s kitchen, and get my balls busted. Literally.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Grant Snow. This is my mother’s house.”

Something akin to horror was beginning to seep through her outrage. “Grant?”

“That’s what I said.  Henry, come on.” He shoved at the bulk of the dog until the beast plopped down next to him with a plaintive whine, and when he turned that burning blue gaze back on her, the pieces tumbled into place. 

Her hand fell limply to her side, the apple hitting the floor. “Oh, my God.”

Ignoring her, he leaned over to pick up the rolling apple rolling just as the dog made a grab. “No raw fruit,” he said firmly. “I’m not putting up with raw fruit farts all night.”

“Grant,” she said numbly. Grant, from the BDSM club she’d joined last summer. Grant, who’d charmed her with his slow, sexy smile and piercing blue eyes calm, confident demeanor. Grant, who’d made a date with her for her first ever scene, then ghosted her.

“That’s what I said.”

“From Odyssey.” The numbness was wearing off, burned away by the beginnings of rage.

“I know—what?” He shoved his dripping hair off his forehead, narrowed his eyes. He raked them down her half-naked form, then back up. Recognition and surprise flashed in his eyes. “Anna?”

“In the flesh,” she replied and a red haze coating her vision, grabbed another apple and let it fly.

The rage threw off her aim, and the apple hit him in the belly instead of the balls she’d been aiming for. He let out a grunt, shock and pain flooding his face for an instant. Then anger was blazing out of his eyes. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You know exactly what it’s for,” she shouted, and would’ve have thrown another apple if the bowl hadn’t been empty. 

“I really don’t—dammit, give me that.” He yanked the apple out of the dog’s mouth. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what the hell I’m talking about. You ghosted me, and it was a shitty thing to.”

A flicker of confusion joined the anger in his expression. “I didn’t ghost you.”

Remembered embarrassment joined the rage, heating her cheeks. She’d been so excited for that play date, and so disappointed—so humiliated—when he’d stood her up. “Oh really? What do you call it when you make a date with someone and never show up?”

He climbed to his feet, using the kitchen island for leverage, and she snatched the toaster off the counter. “Don’t you come another step closer or I’ll bean you.”

“I believe you.” He eyed the toaster warily. “Were you always this hostile and I just didn’t notice, or is it a new thing?”

“Pardon me,” she said, the words dripping with sarcasm. “But I tend to hold a grudge when someone treats me like shit.”

His eyes flashed warningly. “I did not treat you like shit.”

“The hell you didn’t. You made me think you liked me—”

“I did like you,” he tried to interrupt.

“—showing me around the club, asking me questions like you were interested. What do you think of how he’s flogging her? Does bondage appeal to you?” She mimicked his voice with a sneering sarcasm that had his eyes flashing again. She didn’t care. “Making a date with me for a scene, you asshole.”

He straightened, eyes narrowed. “Watch it.”

“Is that how you get off?” she demanded, ignoring the danger signs. She wasn’t scared of him, the asshole. “Lead the newbies on, get their hopes up, then fuck them over?”

“I’m trying to be patient here, Anna, because you’re clearly upset. But you’re starting to piss me off.”

“You’re pissed off? Fuck you,” she snarled and heaved the toaster.

It was still plugged in, so instead of sailing across the room to smash satisfyingly into that smug, sexy face it stopped two feet out and dropped to hang drunkenly from its cord over the counter. But she didn’t have time to worry about it, because the instant she threw it, he moved.

She squeaked and threw up her hands, but it was too late. One moment he was standing on the other side of the room, the big kitchen island between them, and the next he had her hands in a steel grip. He dragged them behind her, pinning them at the small of her back, and growled, “I am this close to putting you over my knee."

He was only a few inches taller than her five-nine, so even barefoot she could look him in the eye without much effort. He was so close she could see the darker blue ring around his pale irises, the flare of his nostrils as he fought for control. There was a small, quiet voice in the back of her mind that warned her it was a mistake to test that control, but she was past caring. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He said it softly, almost carefully, and it was more effective than a thousand shouts.

Uneasy, she flexed her hands. “Let me go.”

“Not until I’m sure you’re not going to throw the knife block at me. Henry, sit.”

She blinked, caught off guard, then realized he was talking to the dog, who had wandered over to sniff at her toes. She glanced down to see the big dog follow orders, then look up at his master as though waiting for further instructions. 

“Good boy. Now, Anna.”

She whipped around to look up at him again, a spurt of renewed anger loosening her tongue. “If you think you can order me around like your dog—”

“Hardly,” he interrupted. “The dog obeys.”

She was giving serious consideration to spitting in his face—damn the consequences—when he said, “I didn’t ghost you.”

Outrage nearly rendered her speechless. “You damn well did.”

“I was called out of town for work,” he went on as though she hadn’t spoken.

She snorted. “Right.”

“I left a message with the bartender, Kell.” He cocked an eyebrow, an unspoken question.

“I got your message,” she told him with a defiant toss of her head. “Kell said you had a work emergency, and would get in touch. Spoiler alert—you did not, in fact, get in touch.”

His eyes flickered. “Things got complicated.”

“I’m sure.” She wanted to sneer, but she couldn’t quite manage it. His fingers were wrapped firmly around her wrists, holding her in place but not hurting her, and dammit, it was turning her on.

Since that was the last thing she wanted she yanked against his grip, trying to pull free. His fingers tightened warningly. “Don’t move.”

“Asshole. Let me go.”

“If you don’t shut up I’m going to gag you.”

That threat did not help her trying-not-to-be-turned-on situation. She hid her inconvenient arousal behind a sneer. “Don’t you dare.”

“I didn’t ghost you,” he repeated, scowling. “Dammit, stop wiggling.”

She ignored the order and kept writhing, trying to twist out of his grip. “Fuck you.”

“You brought this on yourself,” he warned and leaned his full weight against her, pinning her between the sink and his big body, and too late she saw her mistake.

She had been doing a pretty good job ignoring his hands on her wrists, but there was no way she could ignore this. He was pressed against her from breast to thigh, not a whisper between them, and the hard, heavy weight of him went to her head like a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach. 

“I can’t breathe,” she accused. The words came out breathless, lending credence to the claim. He didn’t have to know it was because she was horny.

“You’re breathing just fine,” he countered. “Are you going to listen or not?”

She bucked, trying to shove him back. He shifted, and sensing victory, she struggled harder. Then he leaned back into her, his thick thighs wedged between hers, and she found herself dangling off the floor, his hips pinning her to the sink. Shocked, she froze.

He was hard, and oh God, she could feel…everything.

He didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he was much better at ignoring it than she was. He was still scowling, disapproval and exasperation in his expression with no hint of lust, and for a brief, wild moment she wondered if she was imagining the erection jammed between her thighs. 

“Well?” he demanded.

“Well, what?” she managed, trying not to wiggle on his dick. It was difficult, because it was right there, thick and hard and covered in rough denim that was like delightful, delicious sandpaper through the thin barrier of her t-shirt, so not wiggling was taking all of her concentration.

“Are you going to listen?”

Oh, right—he was still trying to plead his case. “It doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere,” she said, attempting another sneer. It didn’t have much on it—she was having a hard time remembering why she was pissed at him.

He clenched his jaw, pleasing her. Why should she be the only one annoyed? “I did have a work emergency. I was stuck in Istanbul for three weeks.”

That got her attention. “Istanbul?”

“Turkey,” he explained.

“I know where Istanbul is,” she snapped, forgetting about his dick for a moment. “What the hell were you doing there?”

“It’s complicated,” he hedged.

“Oh, complicated,” she drawled, dripping sarcasm. “Well, that explains everything!”

“I work for a security company,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“Uh-huh.”

He ignored that. “We provide, among other things, personal security.”

“So you’re what, a bodyguard?”

“When necessary, yes.”

“And are bodyguards not allowed to have phones?” she demanded.

“I should have called,” he admitted, and to her surprise there was true regret in his crystal blue eyes. “I didn’t have your number, and I thought I’d be back sooner.”

“You could’ve called the club, left another message.” She was starting to get mad again. “I hung around that place for weeks hoping you’d show back up, and—”

“Three weeks,” he interrupted.

“Yeah, that’s weeks,” she snapped, then blinked. “Wait, how did you know that?”

“Because when I got back three and a half weeks later, I found out I’d missed you by three days.” The moonlight streaming in through the window at her back lit up his face, making his eyes glitter like icy diamonds. “Three fucking days.”

“Three fucking weeks,” she shot back, pissed all over again, and forgetting herself, started to struggle.

“Goddammit, Anna, quit rubbing your cunt on my dick,” he ground out.

“Get your dick away from my cunt,” she countered, wiggling harder.

“I can still turn you over my knee,” he warned.

“You just fucking try it,” she snarled and fought all the harder, so incensed she could barely think. She knew she was overreacting. They’d met once, and technically he hadn’t made any promises. But she’d been so excited about having a scene with him, and it had made her feel so small and unwanted when he hadn’t shown up. And now he was here, hard and hot between her thighs and pinning her down the way she’d always fantasized about, and it felt so good and it was so unfair she just couldn’t stand it.

“Anna, stop,” he ordered.

She ignored him, struggling in earnest now, yanking at her hands and kicking her legs trying to get loose. He leaned into her even harder, trying to keep her still, but it just made her madder and hornier.

So much hornier. 

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to stop you,” he warned.

“Jerk,” she spat and tried to head butt him in the chin. He jerked back and she missed, and that pissed her off even more. “Swine. Asshole. No good, rat-dicked bastard, let me go!”

“No,” he said and, shifting to hold her twisting wrists in one hand, tangled the other in her hair, yanked her head back, and kissed her.

Incensed, furious, she tried to bite him. He jerked back with a curse, twisting his hand in her hair so tight her scalp sang. “Do that again and I’ll blister your butt.”

Her pulse pounding in her ears, scalp screaming, she opened her mouth to blast him. But he was kissing her again before she could get the words out, his tongue delving deep in carnal possession, and just like that all her rage turned to lust.

The heat was enormous, overwhelming. It felt like she’d been dipped in hot wax, leaving everything pulsing and throbbing and yearning. She stopped trying to kick him, instead lifting her legs to wrap around his hips, and his groan nearly smothered hers.

He lifted his head, panting, and she tried to follow, wanting more. But he was too far away, and she couldn’t use her hands to drag him back down, so she leaned forward and sank her teeth into the thick muscle of his chest.

He muttered a curse and dragged her head back by his grip on her hair. The sting nearly brought tears to her eyes, and her pussy pulsed in response.

“Anna.” He growled it, gave her head a little shake, and she tried to pay attention.

“What?”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman, here.”

She ground herself down on his dick, digging her heels into his ass for leverage. “You kissed me, dickhead.”

“To shut you up.” His lips were peeled back in a grimace, eyes fierce. “I wasn’t going to fuck you.”

“Right, because you like to get women all worked up then ghost them. Asshole.”

His teeth peeled back in a snarl. “I’m getting sick of you calling me names.”

“I’m getting sick of you being a no good, rat-dicked bastard,” she countered, and despite the fist tangled in her hair, leaned forward and bit him again.

“That’s it,” he growled and spun her around.

She shrieked, off balance, and tried to lift her hands. But he kept them pinned against her lower back, and with his other hand still tangled in her hair, dragged her to the kitchen island.

It was a wide, long slab of granite, smooth and empty but for the bowl she’d grabbed the apples from. It went clattering to the floor when he hoisted her on top of it and climbed up after her.

He’d had to let go of her hands to boost himself up, and she took immediate advantage, shoving them into his hair and giving it a solid yank. His wince made her heart sing, but it was short lived. He peeled her hands out of his hair and slammed them down on the counter over her head. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

He was looming over her, his big body pinning her down. With her hands aching from contact with the granite and her body screaming with desperate need, she lifted her head until her nose was pressed to his. “Make me.”

Snow Bound is a BDSM romance with graphic, detailed sex and graphic, detailed play. In addition to what I consider to be BDSM basics (bondage, spanking, deliberate infliction of physical pain for sexual gratification), there is also verbal humiliation, wax play, exhibitionism, very rough sex, and an interrogation scene that includes face slapping and initially, the illusion of the illusion of violence and force. While all of this is done with the clear and unambiguous consent of all parties involved, some readers might find it uncomfortable. Please take this into account before reading.

Snow Bound is a high heat, high spice BDSM romance with lots of banter, lots of banging, and some edgy play - check the content warnings with this one!